The Alchemist's League
by The Ravenwolf
Summary: At death’s door Severus Snape is given a decision, to either die or be given a second chance in life, following the guidance and command of Nicolas Flamel, the legendary Alchemist.  New chapter: To choose one’s friends and foes
1. Chapter 1

The Alchemist's League

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of Harry Potter; they all belong to J.K. Rowling.

The Alchemist's proposal

Upon his awakening Severus Snape finds himself in a hospital wing, not unlike the Hogwarts infirmary or St. Mungo's, with the difference that there are large windows through which not only the sunlight, but also birds' singing pours into the room. His vision is still blurred so Severus cannot make out more than vague contours that give no indication as to where he is.

Slightly disorientated Severus tries to recall how he could have ended up here, obviously alive, if the pain in numerous parts of his body was any indication. _Well, at least it's not Azkaban._

Carefully he tries to move his head to get a better view than just the ceiling, as suddenly a sharp pain spreads through his body coming from his neck. In a rush the memories of the past events come back to him; how the Dark Lord had set Nagini after him, the snake's piercing teeth boring into his jugular, the rush of pain and weakness as he bled to death on the door of this god forsaken shack, where he had already narrowly escaped death once.

After several dreadful moments of panic, when he started to think that his antivenin potion had not been effective enough to let him at least for a short amount of time close the wound and survive long enough to find Potter and deliver his message, the brat suddenly stood over him.

In the first moment Severus thought he was hallucinating and his desperate wish to see the boy made his mind play tricks on him, but he soon enough realised that the Golden Boy had actually managed to find him, when he most needed him. Carefully the potion master concentrated on each memory he intended to give the Gryffindor and then perform the wandless incantation to bleed them out along with the rest of his blood. Sure enough Potter was too confused to actually know what to do, had he had the strength, Severus would have sneered at him. Thank Merlin, the Granger girl, always the brain power behind the dream team, came up with an idea in time and handed an empty flask to Potter to put in the memories.

Finally his job was done, all his obligations to Lily and to Albus were fulfilled and he could die in peace. With his last strength he grabbed the boy's robes and harshly whispered 'Look at me', seeing these emerald eyes, his mother's eyes, one last time, was all he wished for, before he died. Slowly his vision began to blur and his consciousness left him.

Only to find himself waking up in an unknown location with Albus Dumbledore of all people standing over him, smiling his insufferably jovial smile, while his eyes twinkled merrily as always.

'Ah it's good to see you again. How do you feel, Severus?'

The nerve of the man, to pretend nothing was wrong, when Severus has just had to send Potter to his inevitable death. Annoyed beyond measure, he snarled back, 'well, how do you think I would feel, after the bloody snake just bit my jugular, and my last job on earth is to tell the Boy-who-live that he must die for 'the greater good', as the cursed prophecy by this worthless fraud foretold.

Of course I'm feeling delighted over it, didn't I make this clear to you already?'

All his sarcasm could not drive the twinkle out of the late Headmaster's eyes, a fact that greatly unnerved him. 'You must know, Severus, that this is not the full truth. If everything goes as planned, and I have great confidence that it will, the only one dying is the part of Voldemort's soul that has been placed on Harry 17 years ago.'

'Potter a Horcrux?', Snape was incredulous.

'Indeed, after hunting down the rest of them all year, while I wanted to keep Tom occupied with searching for the Elder Wand, this was the final step in my plan.' The old man intoned with an air of self-satisfaction.

'So tell me, headmaster', Snape sneered, 'Was the Dark Lord killing me to gain control over that Elder Wand also part of your great plan, or do even the greatest of strategists make mistakes, when it comes to their more _expendable_ followers?', although he had not meant to say this with so much harshness, his words sounded cruel and accusing even in his own ears.

A bit of sadness was actually visible in the old man's eyes, as he looked upon the younger wizard, before answering in a slightly strangled voice, 'I'm truly sorry, I had not foreseen this. I never meant for you to die.'

Snape snorted at that statement, 'Don't be ridiculous, it was crystal clear from the first moment you assigned me the task of the spy and double-crossing traitor that I would not survive the war. If not the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters had killed me, it would have been a vengeful member of the Order of the Phoenix or an overly eager Auror. But I had at least expected to be able to fight back, to die with my wand in my hand, … .' his voice trailed of.

'Well, we cannot always get what we want', Albus told him with an air of self-righteousness.

Rolling his eyes, he hissed back, 'Spare me you wisdom, Albus. Where the hell do you have that triviality from, King _Salomon_?'

'I found it in a fortune cookie, actually.'

The Potion Master grimaced, but did not reply. His thoughts drifted back to the memories he had given to Potter. Now that he had done anything he could do, as he had once pledged, he could take the time to study the image of Dumbledore, who had told him that he, Snape, disgusted him, who had kept him at a short leash to have his pet Death Eater spy available anytime, who had bullied, threatened and finally stooped as low as pleading to kill him, who had known he was a willing instrument and therefore never seen fit to actually trust him.

The voice of the person he was just fuming about broke him out of his reverie 'If you'll excuse me Severus, I will have to attend to Harry soon, when he arrives. Unless there is anything else you want to put straight right now, I will leave you. I suppose you can make it onward alone.'

'As I always have', Severus growled darkly. Dumbledore did not appear to heat that as with another jovial smile the old headmaster disappeared, leaving Severus to himself. The latter still had the feeling of having been betrayed that Dumbledore had never told him anything even close to the truth, but always had demanded blind faith and trust, when, as Snape now realised, he had never really trusted him back.

He suddenly felt a tugging at his navel that reminded him of travelling via Portkey, as all went black again.

The first difference he realised was the pain, _maybe the enlightening statements of the headmaster had only been the foretaste of hell_. Slowly he opened his eyes, but almost immediately another jolt of pain flooded his whole body and he gasped loudly.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and instinctively Severus flinched, realising the close proximity of another person, who most likely had no good intention for him. _Who the hell would call him back from the dead only to torture him?__Maybe Bella, but she had neither the skill nor the imagination for necromancy._

'I can see you are awake, Severus Snape.' A male voice with a slightly foreign accent told him: 'Don't answer me yet, I have a proposal to make to you, I will only require your answer afterwards.'

This sounded not only strange, but also highly suspicious in Severus' ears and the fact that he lacked the ability to properly see his partner of conversation did nothing for his ease.

'You are probably wondering, who I am … my name is Nicolas Flamel.'

Snape gave a curt hiss of surprise upon hearing that, had not Dumbledore told them that the legendary alchemist had passed on? _But you should know better than to trust anything the old man told you, he never gave away information that might be useful in some twisted way, but only if as little people as possible knew about it._

Flamel's voice interrupted his musing, as he continued, 'Throughout the centuries many stories and rumours have been created about me, but what nobody but a trusted few knows, is that I have gathered apprentices and during the last one and a half centuries followers of other disciplines than alchemy as well, to fulfil a duty I have taken up a long time ago: guarding the _Book of Abraham_, also known as the _Codex_. This book, of which I have until now only discovered a small part, holds the secrets, not only to everlasting youth, but also to the destruction of humanity and the world as we know it. It has fallen upon me to keep this book from falling into the wrong hands, of powerful dark wizard, but also of many other creatures, which have during the centuries shown great interest in the ancient tome.'

Flamel's words were as interesting as surprising, if Severus had not been at death's door and been feeling how his life force slowly ebbed away, this would truly have interested him in an academic way. As it was his whole body ached, the wound on his neck burned like fire and his head felt like it would explode any moment, so that it took hi all his willpower to even stay conscious. His partner of conversation seemed to realise as well that he had better hurried up, lest Severus died, before the actual proposal was made. So he skipped further intentions of his, to get straight to the point.

'You might wonder what this has to do with you. My followers as I have mentioned are a handpicked few and the requirements to be admitted to join us are quite rigid.

Firstly you have to be a talented and experienced person on your field of expertise with abilities that will aid us with guard the Codex. You clearly have more than one such quality, being an excellent potion master, a more than passable magical dueller and above all an experienced spy, which is the ability most rarely to come across.

Secondly you need to leave all family, friends and the life you have led before completely behind you, never contacting anyone again, something I doubt you will find overly trying, even though it is the main problem for most of my candidates, especially female ones, they have a much stronger affection for their loved ones and find it almost impossible to stay away forever.

I'm not ready yet though, hold on a little bit longer, you need to understand this fully, it is a life changing decision after all.

Thirdly you are required to swear an oath of your loyalty to my cause and its followers, answering to my command and that of your superiors in my organisation, to keep our cause secret and continue it, even if something happened to me.

I believe that this will be the hardest part for you, given how much you have been used and manipulated in the past. Let me guarantee to you that I am neither a Voldemort nor a Dumbledore, my organisation has strict ranks, which have to bee earned by accomplishments and skills, but nonetheless I am always inclined to listen to my companions' suggestions and even step down from my decision, if overruled. You would definitely have more possibility to speak your mind and be listened to than you have had in any of your prior _companies_.' He put a strange pronunciation on the last word. Briefly Severus wondered how he could know that so well, whether Flamel just had extremely good informants in the Order of the Phoenix or being so close to death had truly weakened his occlumency shield so much that he could not keep the alchemist out of his mind completely.

More gravely Flamel finally asked, 'So what is your decision Severus Snape, do wish to join our _dear_ friend Dumbledore already and listen to his unending whining or would you rather put off death a little longer and dedicate yourself to a noble cause?'

Had he not felt the betrayal implied by Dumbledore's words and his resulting anger so freshly, he might have reconsidered and just have taken the easy way out, to die. But like Voldemort and Dumbledore, Flamel was an expert of manipulating people, who had 600 years of experience on his side, and had known perfectly how to play his obvious emotions against him. Indeed what good would there be in dying, only to either burn in hell with his fellow death eaters or to have to watch the love of his life and afterlife still being attached to his arch nemesis, which was hardly any better than hell itself.

Severus had to spit some blood from his mouth, before he could formulate his answer, which would have been longer and wittier, had he not been fighting with all his strength and willpower to keep conscious, 'I'll accept.'

'Excellente', Snape heard Flamel answer in French, before he finally lost his battle for consciousness and blackness overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

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Disclaimer: I still don't own Severus Snape, but who cares...

Author's note: I want to say 'Thank you!' for your reviews. Please enjoy the reading.

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A Lesson in History

Blinking Severus Snape opened his eyes, this time however he was not penetrated as vehemently as the last time by the merciless light shining through the window. _Probably because it's late evening or early morning_, he mused. He suppressed a groan while opening his eyes to slits, so that he could get used to the light.

The ceiling above him looked rather old, at several spots the plaster had crumbled off throughout the pass of the years. Only now did he notice that the architecture of the building did not look familiarly British at all, but had a more Mediterranean touch. Snape would keep that piece of information in mind for further use.

After the painful experience of the last time when he had tried moving too quickly, the former Headmaster decided to approach the matter more carefully; he was after all not a man to make the same mistake twice. For the first time in quite a while Severus felt truly self-conscious about his health, as he carefully moved fingers and toes and tried to assess any damage the poison had done to the muscles of his arms and legs. The pain he felt was nothing compared to what he had become used to from former experience and could most likely be blamed on the lack of use, while he had stayed in the same position for however long he had been wherever he was now.

Feeling more or less safe to move his arm without evoking another pain attack that would end in an uncomfortable flashback the Potion Master lifted his left hand carefully and moved it to the wound on his neck, where Nagini's sharp fangs had pierced his jugular and almost caused him to bleed to death. A thick bandage enveloped his neck and after years of experience with medical treatments of all kind he could feel that it had been quite freshly applied.

Apparently the mysterious and presumed dead alchemist Nicolas Flamel had actually been serious and true to his word by taking care that Snape did survive to fulfil whatever the former spy had gotten himself into this time. In the light of all his past experiences pledging himself so easily to a cause he did not know anything about appeared completely ludicrous to him, now that he had the time and strength to think it over rationally. _Being called back from the dead and just having been proven again how little the late Headmaster had actually trusted and appreciated you must have been befuddling your brain, Severus. Pledging yourself to another manipulative, meddling old fool so easily was definitely not the best thing to do before leaving this world forever. Still better than sending Potter to his death_, came the after-thought that immediately filled him with guilt and regret.

'Ah, you're finally awake', a soft female voice with a slight accent spoke from next to his bed and made Snape flinch in surprise how someone could have approached him without his notice. Seeing his reaction she tried to reassure him, 'Don't worry, you're safe here. As one of Nicolas' new companions you enjoy our full hospitality and care.

I have taken care of your wound as you have seen. Clever of you to take an antivenin potion in advance, otherwise it would have been almost impossible to find a cure for the poison in time. A few well-applied healing spells plus lots of blood replenishing potions were basically all we needed,' she told him cheerfully.

Not that Severus was ungrateful for such news, but still he dearly wanted to get information about the current situation of the world he was sure to have left for good, as well as the uncomfortable matter of the alchemist's arrangement.

'What…', he croaked, but was immediately surprised and shocked himself at how harsh and weak his voice sounded. Again he tried to clear his throat, but that proved to be an extremely painful thing to do, as he could not help but grimace, before schooling his features into his patented glare. But the woman did not let him finish the question anyway, as she placed her hand on his mouth to effectively keep him from continuing to talk. Quickly she handed him a glass of water and seeing that his hand was shaking slightly, she also supported him at drinking from it, while trying to make the situation as little awkward as possible for him. The liquid felt cool and fresh in his sore throat, so he gladly took a few swallows before handing the glass back to his nurse.

When she had bended over him, Severus had for the first time been able to see her clearly: she was a middle-aged woman of average size with brown hair and slightly tanned skin. Her features were neither strikingly beautiful nor particularly unattractive, but she seemed to emit a certain aura of calmness, friendliness and heartfelt concern that was not even lost on him.

The sound of her voice drew him out of his musings, 'Do not speak yet, your throat is still quite raw and you have not been drinking anything except a few potions I had to feed you while you were unconscious.' At his obvious discomfort at being given unknown substances while being in no position to do something about it, she smiled at him reassuringly, 'Don't worry, I've had almost 600 years of experience in healing people, I doubt you'll find a mediwitch with better credentials.' Almost as an afterthought she added, 'Ah, and if you may wonder who I am, my name is Perenelle Flamel. I'm Nicolas' wife.'

Seeing he was struggling with himself whether to follow the basic rules of courtesy by introducing himself or to follow her instructions by not talking at all, she smiled gently, 'No need to introduce yourself, Severus Snape. Nicolas has already acquainted me with your name and _parts of your past_.'

Following her line of view Severus was immediately aware that she was looking at the Dark Mark that was still visible on the pale skin of his forearm, a stigma he would never be rid of even after the Dark Lord's destruction.

Suddenly he became aware that he did not even know how the war had really ended the last thing he knew was that Dumbledore had some plan to get Harry Potter back to the realm of the living to defeat the Dark Lord, as the old coot had always intended it to be. But whether the Boy-who-lived had succeeded again in performing a miracle by sheer dumb luck he did not know.

'Potter?', he bit out, before Perenelle could stop him.

'The boy hero of your Wizards' world? He has eliminated the dark sorcerer, who gave you this mark', she told him with a still gentle voice, 'your past is now behind you and you must learn to keep it like that otherwise you will never be free, believe me, I know what I am talking about', she smiled at him, but Severus recognised immediately the sadness in her eyes.

Shaking her head to free herself of whatever miserable thoughts had bothered her she turned back to being the nurse in charge of him. 'Nicolas will explain things to you in more detail, the next time you wake up. You should take these potions now and then return to sleep. Well, you are an alchemist, like Nicolas, so recognising them will not be an issue for you.'

Snape was aware that she mainly wanted to reassure him and give his thoughts another, more familiar direction, but since the woman had been fairly friendly without bothering him by being overly patronising as Poppy Pomfrey had tended to be, he decided to comply with her wishes since it was in his own best interest as well. Even though he was loath to admit it, he was indeed starting to feel quite exhausted from their short exchange already.

Thus he swallowed a nourishment potion, since his throat was still too raw to take proper food. After he had downed a bottle of some general healing potion, another small jar was put into his hand. Carefully Severus took a sniff and recognised it as an ointment meant to heal his throat. As this process would take several hour, he was not surprised that the last bottle he was given was a sleeping potion. Immediately after downing it he felt his eyelids grow heavy and his consciousness drift away, as a soft hand pried the bottle gently out of his fingers.

Loud noises woke Severus from his potion induced sleep. Upon opening his eyes and directing his gaze in the direction of the commotion, while trying to move his head as little as possible, he found Perenelle Flamel and her husband moving a stretcher to another bed in the infirmary. The man lying on that stretcher, who their attention currently was on, was bleeding from several wounds on his body and his face looked drawn and pale.

With quick, practiced movements the nurse attended to her patient, while her husband stepped aside, leaving her to her personal field of expertise, knowing he would only stand in the way. Only when turning around Nicolas Flamel noticed the dark-haired wizard observing them. With a smile he stepped towards Severus' bed and the younger man was uncomfortably reminded of Albus Dumbledore, when he noticed a jovial twinkle spark in his eyes.

'Bonjour, mon ami. How are you?'

'I doubt we are well enough acquainted to be considered friends, Monsieur Flamel,' Severus replied dryly, 'but as for your question, let me assure you I am feeling much better than the last time we met.' Flamel smiled at the sarcasm contained in the statement.

_He'd better be forthcoming with __information; I'm not in a patient mood today, not that I ever am_.

'I see you have come to appreciate what an excellent healer my wife is, she will also tend to Faolan, a companion of ours, as you have noticed us enter before. Do not worry, we are used to dealing with such events quite often.' Seeing that Severus was beginning to furrow his brow in impatience, he quickly continued, 'let me get to issues that are of more immediate concern for you, Severus Snape.

I may not have been as precise about the intentions of my "League of Gentlemen" as I should have been, before hiring you, but I will make up for that. Since the circumstances under which I had to approach you did not allow a longer negotiation' – Severus snorted at that – 'I will give you the chance to reconsider your decision of following me, as you have not yet made any binding vow or contract. Since our arrangement would be of a more time-extended nature than the ones you have found yourself in already, I want no doubt on your behalf whether this is what you want. Should you wish to back out, all I will require of you is an oath to keep silent about my existence and the secrets, I am going to entrust to you.'

Flamel looked at him expectantly, surely waiting for some sort of reply. No doubt he had some very good sources of information to make such a statement, somehow he must have known about Dumbledore's manipulative schemes or at least parts of them.

'Trying to lure me into your band by rubbing into my face how much you trust me,' Severus sneered at him, 'surely someone of your reputation as scribe and masterly manipulator could come up with something more inventive. Tell me, Monsieur Nicolas Flamel – if that is indeed, who you really are, as I have yet to see a proof for this claim – how come you are so interested in acquiring the services of a humble potion master, who you approach at the brink of death no less, when you are known as one of the greatest alchemists of the past centuries?'

Flamel still gave no sign of irritation at that tirade, but rather jovially replied, 'I have been wondering, when you would come up with these questions. I also want to answer your former question to Perenelle about the outcome of the war that nearly devastated the magical community of your country, since these are all closely connected.'

Seeing that Snape had raised his eyebrow expectantly and his features clearly spoke for him 'I'm all ears', Flamel started his recount: 'You might recall the episode with the Philosopher's Stone a few years ago. What was guarded at Hogwarts was indeed a valid version of that rare creation, the Holy Grail of Alchemy, if you want. But unlike the Christian grail, the Philosopher's Stone is not unique and it can be created more often than once, the only reason, why one might not try that, is that the process in itself is highly complex, takes years of precise work and is even after a previous success and intense knowledge of the detail of every step not immune to failure. You may believe me, I have learnt that from bitter experience. Only Albus Dumbledore's dire need decades ago, long before your time, motivated me to attempt a new try at the creation with his assistance, it still took years of trials and more than one failure.'

'I see. So nobody saw the fault in logic, when assuming that you had mysteriously survived for 500 before _ever_ creating the Stone with Dumbledore's appreciated assistance, only to die after its untimely destruction,' the Potion Master, intent to hide his sparked interest, sneered and continued sardonically, 'lack of logical thinking has always been a major demerit of the magical community.'

'A fact that you have always been well aware of, I think. I was most pleased and interested, when checking out the 'traps', to keep out unintended visitors, that I found one that asked for pure intellect, not requiring any previous knowledge of plant properties, spells or even the rules of chess. I have later on inquired about you and Albus informed me among other things about your role as his spy…'

At that Severus deeply furrowed his brows in suspicion and barely disguised anger. 'How typically like Albus to share confident information with the most inappropriate of people!', he spat at the Alchemist. 'And "among other things", what else did he tell you? Some heart-wrenching story about regrets and second chances? That was all lies!', he growled, getting het up more and more, 'The world does not grant second chances, death is the only penance we can do, and _YOU_, like Albus so many years ago, took that chance from me as well!' During his rant he had not noticed that his wound had opened again, Flamel's hands on his shoulders trying to push the agitated man down, brought him back to reality. The bandage already felt damp with blood, the loss of which made him feel dizzy for a moment. Quicker than even Nicolas himself could react, Perenelle was at his bed and performing a strong healing spell that closed the wound, before she changed the bandages.

However embarrassing, it at least served the purpose to give him a chance to calm down and stop himself from revealing anything else, fearing that he had granted the mysterious alchemist too much insight into his thoughts already.

'You have almost given me a heart attack!', the nurse scolded him, before turning towards her husband and showering him in a tirade that Snape could not understand due to lack of sufficient knowledge of the French language, but her tone alone told him that he had gotten off lightly compared to the furious woman's husband.

With a loud snort the woman finally turned on her heel and made her way towards the other patient's bed, who was apparently unconscious, as he had not even stirred throughout the whole commotion. Satisfied that her duty was fulfilled properly, she shot one last warning glare towards Nicolas, before strutting out of the room. As the other man turned towards him looking slightly abashed, Severus could not hold his tongue, 'apparently hell has no wrath like that woman, when seeing her patients mistreated.' Then added silkily: 'I will keep that in mind as future … leverage.' _Hah, you did not really expect I'd let you have the upper hand during this whole session._

Flamel looked a bit embarrassed, as he cleared his throat, before commenting with a grave tone: 'I must ask your forgiveness, I did not consider your condition, when making this ah, … little diplomatic statement. You can be assured that your former employer has not been forthcoming with personal information regarding your unfathomable motivations, he did however assure me of your good intentions.'

'… which have paved the pass to hell for me quite literally.'

Flamel smiled briefly at the dry comment, but continued completely unimpressed: 'I do not want to plunge into your past. If you should however agree to my arrangement, you will have to draw a line under your past forever, talking about it might be a good way to do so.' Seeing the suspicious and quite unnerved glare of the younger man directed at him, he quickly continued, trying to reassure: 'I will not force anything upon you however.'

Severus just snorted in disbelief. _Lo and behold, a likely story!_

'To get straight to the point' – _now that would certainly be a novelty, after he has wasted already at least an hour of precious, prattling about trivialities, maybe with the exception of the knowledge that at least one other version of the Philosopher's Stone existed_ – 'I have approached you, because I require someone with your experience in mind magic, as well as the abilities that made you such a good spy, gathering information inconspicuously, blending in among the shadier contemporaries efficiently, just to mention a few. The fact that you are a potion master, and most likely more familiar with recent developments on the field, than I am, is an added bonus.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere,' Severus growled at him, 'I've become as immune to it as to the insults, I hear so frequently. So please, spare me that prattle. Just stay true to your word and get to the point.'

'Very well,' replied the alchemist with a sigh, 'In order to understand my motivations and intentions, you must however learn about my past, little of which is known aside from rumours. I will introduce you to some of these well-guarded secrets now; consider it a "Lesson in History", one you have certainly never heard before.

I am sure you are familiar with the official story about my life in Paris in the 14th century, my marriage, my mysterious pilgrimage to St. James, Santiago de Compostela, and I will therefore skip that. But you may not have known that it was not I who invented or even discovered by experimentation the formula for the Philosopher's Stone. My main accomplishment lay in translating an ancient journal and later executing its instructions, which took me many years of my life. However when I turned it into my personal quest of life to translate a mysterious book, little did I know that the journey would become more important than the goal itself. That book was the Book of Abraham the Jew, also called the Codex, written on bark instead of parchment.'

'Would it be too much to ask of you, to not make it sound like a fairy tale, you would tell a child? You might as well skip this mystery nonsense about higher goals, that only serve to hide ulterior motives and just get straight on with it.'

Flamel looked far more cheerful than he should have after such a harsh comment and the answer he received cost the former Headmaster all the restraint he had left to keep himself from rolling his eyes like an immature child. 'Now I understand, what Albus meant with "refreshing sarcasm and unvarnished criticism".

Eh bien, to keep it short and straightforward: after I had successfully created the Philosopher's Stone and brewed the Elixir of Youth with its help. I thought that the journey was at an end, I could leave the Codex to my heirs to give them the chance to uncover its secrets, while I would lead a life of 'happy ever after' with my wife. We feigned our deaths and because Perenelle was during the first years downcast at living within reach of her family, but not being able to approach them, we left the country completely and travelled first through Europe, then further east to China and even Japan. I have always had a talent for learning languages, which was extremely helpful for translating the Codex, and thus could remain rather inconspicuous during our travels.

When we returned to France in the 17th century, we found that one of my descendants, who unfortunately happened to be the heir of the Book of Abraham, used the family heirlooms to show off in front of the king of France himself. It was of little surprise that his majesty would be interested in the art of turning lead into gold. At least the poor fool did not possess any knowledge of value in that regard, thus was imprisoned and even condemned to death. All the while the Codex was confiscated _by l'Éminence grise_, Cardinal Richelieu, 'the grey Eminence', himself.

He was determined to find out the secrets to book held and use them for his own purposes. Therefore he immediately erected a laboratory at the Chateau of Rueil, which he often visited to read through my manuscripts and to try to interpret the ancient hieroglyphs. Fortunately he did not have my talent for languages, neither had his lackeys, so that his attempts at uncovering the secrets of the tome were in vain. After his death we, meaning Perenelle, my apprentice at that time, George Starkey, and I, recovered the book and from then on kept it hidden with us at all times.'

'George Starkey, the first serious American alchemist, who taught in London for years? I would have thought that he died in 1665, but apparently you were not the only one to feign death.'

'You're not mistaken; I will tell you what became of him soon. But first things first. When I opened the Codex after so much time, I was stunned with surprise: the letters in it had changed, not just the words, but the symbols themselves, it was a completely different language. At first I thought it was a fake and the real book had been lost throughout the centuries, but then I saw the shifting of the letters with my own eyes. I do not know what had caused this, since I have owned and closely studied the book for years, but never seen any change of the symbols before. It might have been some kind of ill-attempted try to perform dark magic on the book, but truth be told I do not know until now.

With the assistance of Mr. Starkey and my wife of course I tried to translate the new passages appearing on the paper, but apparently George was a bit luckier than I, as he found out, how to summon the creatures and powers, which he assumed behind this and did so without notifying me.'

'He betrayed you?', Severus made it sound more like a statement of incredulity than an actual question. George Starkey, as he had known him from his published works, had appeared to him as not only as a genius on his field of study, but also a man of strict principles.

'Yes. Unfortunately he had to pay for his arrogance or, whatever else motivated him, with his life. Perenelle found his notes containing the translations, and only 2 days later we came upon his mutilated body that was barely recognisable as human anymore. Authorities called it a tragic accident, but we knew from the notes that it could only have been the creatures, he had summoned. Even though Starkey was dead the deed was done and the creatures that he had called into existence were back in our world and determined to lay hand on the book in order to lay the path to get the rest of their race back into our world. Ever since then, we have been on the run, hiding with the book, trying to find some of its secrets that could help us or give us clues about our adversaries.'

This sounded rather vague in Severus' ears, either the man wanted to keep something from him, just another reason to mistrust him, or he did not know enough himself, which was little reassuring. 'So what is the nature of your adversaries, or does that also exceed your current knowledge?', he drawled.

'The creatures we are talking about would most likely be defined as demons, even though they are very creative and intelligent. They are immortal and some of them have gained some fame throughout human history filling the position of mythological gods or goddesses.'

Snape drew in a breath in surprise, before hissing his next question: 'And what kind of gods would you be talking about? I suppose Amor and Dionysus are off the list.'

'Indeed, the ones we are talking about had more martial motivations. From ancient Egyptian Bastet and Anubis to Norse Thor and Odin many prominent members of the pantheons belong to their kind.'

'You are doing nothing to reassure me,' sneered the Potion Master, 'Fighting against the VIPs of mythology of who knows how many ancient cultures does not appear to be a pleasant way to spend eternity. As Homer already wrote: "He lives not long who battles with the immortals, …"'

'Maybe it does reassure you that I have been doing exactly that for 350 years now. But I clearly get your point, a century after the original summoning of the first of the demons Perenelle and I finally realised that as well and decided that this was not a fight that we could fight and hope to win on our own; we needed help from people with experience in dealing with magical dangers, commanding troops, sneaking and hiding or translation and alchemy. Thus the 'Alchemist's League' was called into existence, but since it is not only a highly dangerous, but also an extremely secretive work that we are dedicating our lives to, there is no chance of hiring people 'the normal way', via advertisements in newspapers or whatever else. The only way to keep ahead of our enemy is to be unknown and the only people unsuspected are the dead. '

'Indeed? Pray tell me, _master of necromancy_, calling back people from the dead and using their rather helpless state is your standard way of recruiting? You are even more disgusting than the Dark L… Voldemort,' Severus spat at the man with all venom he could muster.

'You misunderstand me, I do not want to force anything upon anyone against their will,' Flamel almost pleaded with him.

Snape only raised his eyebrow sardonically. 'Really?', he drawled, 'Assume I would not wish to participate in your little war of immortals versus demons they have called upon the earth themselves, what would you do? Poison my water? Denounce me to whoever is currently most interested in ridding the world of my presence?'

'You have no good opinion of me,' was the disappointed sounding reply of the alchemist. At that the Potion Master could only snort in disdain, 'I have little reason to have one of humans in general.'

'I have already told you and I stand by my word: You have the chance to back out without any consequences for you and spend with the rest of your life however you please. All I have to ask of you is an oath never to speak about any of that to anyone, who is not in my confidence already.'

'And…?', drawled Snape, disbelief clearly evident in his voice.

'The rest is up to you. I'd better leave you some time to think now.' Considering that as good a closure of the conversation as any, Flamel turned to leave Severus to his thoughts.

No sooner had the door closed behind Flamel than a loud shout sounded through the room. 'You are really THE Severus Snape?!'


	3. Chapter 3

Dancing with Wolves

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Author's note: Again I wish to express my gratitude to all those, who have taken the time to send their reviews.

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_'You are really THE Severus Snape?!'_

Sharply turning his head Severus caught a glimpse of the unexpected speaker. Even though the other man was still lying in the bed, he had propped himself up on an elbow and was eyeing Snape closely. Unfortunately for him the other's bed stood directly in front of the window, so that he could only make out his contours, but not see his face and any emotions written there clearly.

_Bloody hell, I hate it, when people know more about me than I know about them__, starting with their name. Speaking of which, _he could recall Flamel mentioning a name_, Fabian, no Faolan. _His lips curled in distaste_. Faolan, the wolf! If things were as he suspected, Flamel must really have a nerve to put him in this room with what was most likely a werewolf. _

In order to cover his surprise at being spoken to and discomfort resulting from his suspicion Severus settled to his reflexive standard reaction, glaring irately at the source of disturbance, while curling his mouth into a sneer.

'I happen to be at the disadvantage of not knowing _your_ identity, _Sir_.' – his long practised ability to make even the most courteous statement sound like an insult by adding a well measured amount of sarcasm came in handy in situations like this – 'But I am sure, you can make up for that in due time,' he added slightly condescendingly; _if the 'league of the insane immortals' wanted to hire him, getting to know some of the 'future companions' that he would have to deal with in such an increasingly unlikely case was better than buying a pig in the poke. As this idea works in both directions, they'd better learn to cope with his personality rather sooner than later_.

Faolan sat up and now that his body blocked most of the sunlight, his face became a bit more visible. Apparently he was younger than Severus had expected, no older than thirty and strands of dark brown hair that were hanging into his eyes unruly only emphasised the spirit of youthfulness surrounding him. Even his voice sounded strong and cheerful, which was quite an achievement for someone who had been carried into the room bleeding and unconscious only hours ago.

'My name's Faolan McNamara. I'm terribly sorry; I thought Nicolas would have said something to introduce me.'

'We had more pressing matters to deal with.' Severus snorted inwardly at the self-centeredness of the other, _just why did so many people assume the world evolved around them?_

'How come you know me? I'm quite sure I have neither encountered nor threatened or tortured you before.' Maybe there was a chance to shock him enough to render him speechless, not that it was very high, but 'dum spiro, spero'.

Unfortunately the other was not in the least discouraged to keep not only the conversation up, but also his in Severus' eyes mistimed friendly and cheerful tone.

'I've been out of 'real werewolf business' for quite a while, you know, running with the pack, howling at the moon together as part of the wolfish community and things like that. Flamel's decree of secrecy, savvy?' – _not just a werewolf, but also a self announced jester, Merlin, my luck is just too bad to be true._ 'But when I do that sometimes – with different packs of course, so I don't draw to much attention to me – I hear quite some interesting things at times. One of those wolves, I think the name was Lupino or something like that, said that he used to have someone brewing that Wolfsbane Potion, which they came up with a few decades ago, for him, so he could keep his human mind during full moon. Digging a bit deeper I found that the one brewing the potion was a potions teacher, surprise, surprise!'

Snape could only be grateful that he had never relied on Lupin to keep any important information; especially that he had not been in on the events of the last year. With the right motivation and a skilled master in the arts of persuasion in action, the lycanthrope could be almost as gullible as Hagrid.

Letting his anger at Lupin's lack of discretion be heard in his voice he hissed at the werewolf that was closest to suffer from his ire, the one on the opposite side of the room: 'Remus Lupin, this insufferable fool, who cowed in front of anyone speaking to him harshly in fear of losing what little sympathy someone of his status had left, has been as usually too forthcoming with information he had no right to spread.'

Quickly he checked a mental list of things that Lupin could have known and possibly shared intentionally or not with his 'brother in claws'. The fact that Snape had only stopped brewing the potion for the insufferable werewolf after he had been driven off the school grounds by the events around Dumbledore's death that he did not care to delve into more deeply at the moment, gave him a chance to set a timeframe, when those two could have met: at some time between the end of June and the birth of his son in spring – being the Gryffindor he was, Lupin would likely not have left his wife and newborn child unprotected. Enough reason to believe that whenever Lupin had mentioned his name he certainly had nothing good to say.

'If Remus Lupin is indeed your source of information, I should probably prepare myself for a stake aimed towards the heart or does your kind prefer to seek bloody revenge with bare hands or should I rather say _fangs_?', he spat the last word at the werewolf venomously.

Faolan looked taken aback, even slightly hurt, when he answered. 'I've never thought about any such thing! All I wanted was to express my respect, not many would brew such a potion for a werewolf that they do not even like and ask nothing in return.' _You can tell that someone who actually believes it, I certainly don't._

Smiling evilly Severus mentally prepared his movements to verbally strike back. The werewolf's naivety and emotionality made him almost as good a victim as Lupin himself would have been, were he here now.

'Are you really that daft or unforgivably naïve to believe that I would help the werewolf, who almost killed me, thanks to a well prepared conspiracy of his ever dear friends, out of sheer goodness of heart? Think again, McNamara!

I did all I did on my master's order, you can fill in Dumbledore respectively the Dark Lord for that position, whoever you consider more suitable at the moment.' – Each name was emphasised with an appropriate amount of loathing, as Snape held little to no sympathy for any of them – 'What did dear Dumbledore call it? Ah, yes: 'a necessary sacrifice for the greater good'; that was quite easy for him to say, after all he did not have to spend hours on end in the laboratory to finish an extremely intricate potion that would only be accepted with ungratefulness and never ceasing complaints about the _flavour._' The last word was spoken with so much venom that the other actually flinched, much to Severus satisfaction. That one would hopefully reconsider before **ever** bothering him again.

No such luck though. A stubborn Irishman is almost impossible to discourage. At least the werewolf had become somewhat less cheerful, now that his ridiculous illusionary image of the 'Samaritan for the lycanthropes' or whatever he had had in mind was destroyed. He sounded almost like a beaten puppy, whining at his master's boot, when he addressed him again: 'So you really hate werewolves, because you were almost … killed by one?'

Severus gave a longsuffering sigh and added in a tone he usually reserved to explain the most dim-witted of his students one of the most basic concepts of potion brewing 'O no, I simply enjoy to adopt any well developed prejudice that society has cultivated over the past centuries and make it the basis of my daily life, not considering reason or any personal experience on such matters, as this could possibly be debilitating,' his voice was dripping of sarcasm by now.

Finally he snapped at the other: 'So, make up your mind, man, either kill me, if that's what you need to pacify your sense of justice and if you have the guts to pull through it, which I highly doubt or leave me alone.

Besides you can rest assured, I have more important reasons to _especially_ resent Lupin than his lycanthropy. And if you don't want to add any others as well, you'd better stop bothering me, for Merlin's sake.'

One should think that he would be sufficiently intimidated, not to speak up again, but the wolf was more resilient than he appeared from his statements. By now the young man sounded truly frantic: 'Please, I never wanted to harm you, when I told Flamel, he said you were playing one of the hardest roles in this whole war and that you were acting on orders for a greater plan. I swear, I don't want to bother you. All I hoped for was that you could, would possibly brew that potion for me as well, as it is hard to impossible to purchase, when you must not use the same source twice. I never would have asked, if I had known how much work there is behind it and how much you resent brewing it…'

Irritated and annoyed by the whining tone as well as some misperceptions, Severus snarled at him: 'Stop snivelling, you're giving me a headache! It is NOT the brewing or the complexity of the potion I resent, but the way it was just taken for granted.

Besides would you possibly be so kind as to inform me, why the so called greatest alchemist of all times, if not inventor at least producer of the Philosopher's Stone, does not consider it worthy of his time to brew this potion himself? _This_ is after all a recipe that has been followed through successfully by more than one man during the past years.'

'Nicolas is getting old and is not really familiar with the modern ways of working with potions, at least that is what he claims, he says he lost all interest in keeping up with the methods of alchemy after he had completed the work on the original Philosopher's Stone. His own decree of secrecy and of course his mission have only made him focus more on other fields – don't ask me, he'll show you, when the time is right.'

Faolan's eyes were bloodshot by now and his breathing laboured, obviously he was not as well healed as he had appeared at the beginning of this conversation. 'Please, you are my only hope, my only chance to get this potion regularly, I promise you I will be forever grateful to you, the gratitude of the Irish is never wavering.' His quivering voice had become stronger during that last statement. 'I'd even drink it if it tasted like fresh dragon dung. In over 100 years of being a werewolf, this is the first real beacon of hope that I would not have to wake up every morning after the full moon in a pool of blood and desperately hope that it's only my own. You don't know, what you have been spared, because you were not infected.'

Severus had already narrowed his eyes in loathing at the impertinence of the last statement and had he had the strength he would have jumped at the other's throat, before even thinking about it. But now he made a last conscious effort to analyse not only the other's words, but also the tone of his voice and look on his face, neither of which spoke of mocking, but rather of a desperation that unpleasantly reminded him of some dark depths of his own tormented soul.

Even though affection had never come to him naturally – especially not for werewolves – and he despised useless pity under all circumstances, roughly telling Faolan off was such a heartless act that maybe Bellatrix or Riddle himself would be able to perform it without a tithe of shame or regret. But he was quite sure he could never look at himself with the same amount of self-esteem as before; considering how little of that he had left anyway after the in his eyes rather futile 20 years of attempted redemption for a crime that could never be undone, complying with his wishes, brewing the potion and possibly gaining that wolf's alliance and loyalty was probably the lesser evil.

Between clenched teeth he finally bit out: 'I might be inclined to consider your request. But this would be bound to certain conditions.' _Ha, the day you outmanoeuvre a true Slytherin has yet to dawn, my friend. _

Immediately the other's face lit up with new hope and an amount of gratitude that was almost painful to see. 'Name them and I will readily comply.'

Snape could not help but sneer: 'Be careful what you wish for, my reputation precedes me and 'fama non semper crescit eundi'. After all I could ask anything of you…'

Once back to cheerfulness the wolf was not daunted so easily. 'But you wouldn't, would you? If you were half as bad as your reputation, Nicolas would never have considered you as a member of his league, we have certain standards to maintain after all.' Faolan even possessed the insolence to smile playfully during that comment. _I must have truly lost my edge after one year of coddling the students instead of truly punishing them._

'If you intend to get along with me, you'd better drop this habit of playing the court jester immediately,' replied silkily. 'Now back to business. You will certainly understand that I could only brew that potion for you, if I really were to join this 'League of extraordinary gentlemen', which is not yet decided.' He put special emphasis on the last words.

'Why would you not want to join us?' Again the innocent naivety, who did the werewolf think he was, the Irish incarnation of

'For a million of reasons, starting with having just narrowly escaped 2 other fatal alignments, not having seen any proof of so called Flamel's story or ending up with someone like you in the same room _by mere coincidence_.' His tone made it quite clear that he highly doubted that anything had happened coincidentally, since he had met Flamel. 'So why don't you tell me about your colleagues, Flamel and his oh-so-noble cause?'

Faolan simply nodded, before starting to speak thoughtfully: 'You don't believe Nicolas is, who he claims to be?'

'An alchemist of his calibre not able to brew a master's potion would be a shame for my whole guild. Besides his story of the mysterious book filled with shifting text passages that he conveniently failed to notice through years of trying to translate and later produce the Philosopher's Stone along with the mythological demonic overlords trying to conquer the world and humanity at the same time while they're at it, forgive me my scepticism, but this rather sounds like someone has had a glass of firewhiskey too many,' he replied sardonically.

The werewolf's response took him slightly aback, he actually laughed heartily. Still gasping between words Faolan responded: 'We all had our doubts in the beginning, but I don't think anyone has ever put it as straight forward as you just have. We'll have great fun with you at the meetings.' Merry twinkle of eyes over jokes of varying degrees of amusement were something Severus had become almost allergic to in the years of working for Dumbledore, his anaphylactic reaction was scowling furiously at the other, not that this could dispel any of the werewolf's joviality.

'Please, don't scowl at me like that; I'm doing my best to 'not play the court jester', as you put it, honestly.' Snape just rolled his eyes in exasperation; of all the werewolves to bother him it had to be the one more cheery than Lupin and Dumbledore put together.

'You know, the best way to prove Flamel's story is the 'Elixir of Youth', drinking it has certainly convinced every last one of us.' Severus simply raised an eyebrow to acknowledge his interest and gave him a curt nod to signal Faolan that he should continue. 'All I can tell you is that people, who drink it, usually end up looking the way they have been in their mid twenties to mid thirties. But once you have taken the potion, you are bound to drink it again after a full lunar cycle or the aging process will kick in again, having you age at a faster rate than normal, at first a week for every day, then quicker up to a year in an hour. I've seen once what the effect is at the fastest rate first hand, it was not a pleasant sight, believe me.'

'If your intention is trying to get me over to your side and persuade me to ingest that potion, I must inform you that you're doing a rather terrible job at encouraging me.' Severus added silkily, 'If you take me for such a fool to take this potion that would force me into lifelong addiction and dependence of Monsieur Flamel, who is so conveniently is the one in charge of its formula and brewing process, you might reconsider your character evaluation.'

'Spoken like a true Slytherin,' came a voice from the door that made the two occupants of the room whip their heads simultaneously to scrutinise the new and in Severus case rather unwanted participant in the conversation. Severus' eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw for a moment dropped in surprise as he stared at the figure in the doorway, before he composed himself and put a more dignified, but still slightly shocked expression on his face.

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For all those less familiar with Latin: 

dum spiro, spero – As long as I breathe, I keep hoping.

Fama non semper crescit eundi – The rumour does not always grow as it goes. (Original by Vergilius, Aeneis : fama crescit eundi.)


	4. Chapter 4

**To choose one's friends and foes**

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Author's Note: To those , who did, thank you for taking your time and writing a review!

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Even though he had never met him in person, Severus recognised the man standing in the doorway immediately from illustrations in potions and arithmancy books as well as the gallery of honour for the most accomplished members of Slytherin house: Arthur Dee, the son of Dr. John Dee, who had been a member of Slytherin himself as well as the court wizard and consultant of Queen Elisabeth I., an alchemist, mathematician and astrologer extraordinaire, his son had shared his father's interest in the same field of study mainly focussing on potions though and had been the healer at the court of the Russian tsars. His posture and appearance immediately demanded respect and Severus could not help but feel a bit of reverence in the presence of one of the most famous members of his house. 

Faolan's reaction was the complete opposite, with a howl of mad rage he jumped out of his bed disregarding his injuries and turned towards his adversary, anger, hatred and distrust clearly visible in his facial expression and audible in his voice. 'What are you doing here, Dee? Don't your demonic masters provide you with enough entertainment, so that you have to come here and bother us? Get out, or I swear I'll…'

'Silence!' hissed Dee and with a sharp movement of his hand all further words died in the werewolf's throat. Infuriated Faolan lunged forward, but stopped dead in his tracks as the wizard withdrew a silver dagger from a sheath at his belt. Smiling malevolently Arthur Dee took a step towards him and snarled unpleasantly: 'You'd better remember your place, filthy beast, before I see fit to refresh your memory.'

As the werewolf made another move to get towards him in spite of his apprehensibility, while Dee turned halfway towards Severus, the magician whipped around faster than anyone would have anticipated and drove the dagger deeply into the werewolf's chest. With a strangled cry of pain Faolan collapsed and immediately began to writhe on the floor as if he were under the Cruciatus curse, trying to pull the dagger out of his chest, but unable to do so as the silver burned his hands.

Completely unperturbed by the suffering of the other Dee turned around, the cold smile playing around his mouth reminded Severus unpleasantly of the Dark Lord as he had in cold blood ordered Nagini to turn on him. The time for awe has passed now; Dee was not just any Slytherin, but one of the most successful and ruthless ones, and as such even less trustworthy than that moraliser Flamel.

Arthur Dee's tone was almost casual, as if he was talking to an old friend about something as ordinary as the weather and nothing in the world could overshadow their conversation. 'Seeing that you have recognised me already, I suppose it would be unnecessary to introduce myself, but I will do so anyway: I am indeed Arthur Dee, you certainly have heard of me and my father.' Severus nodded carefully; years of dealing with the dark lord had taught him that a moody egocentric narcissist is best treated like a raw egg. His neutral expression hid his thoughts perfectly and just in case he had put up his mental shields as well.

'I'm sure dear Nicolas has presented you his side of the story, how he and his handful of heroes are trying to save the world from all evil. Pity that they don't care much to intervene with the actual everyday problems, like Dark Lords terrorising entire Nations.'

'And I suppose we are to be forever grateful for _all the precious help_ you have provided us unworthy underlings with.' Severus replied silkily, voice dripping with sarcasm. _Today seems to be my lucky day, every schemer within a few hundred miles reach seems to be determined to get me on his side. If this was an auction, I'd probably get higher bids than a Picasso._

Dee sniggered unpleasantly, a sound that made the hair of Severus' neck stand on end. 'This is not about what I have done for any side or not, but what I am going to do for you: I will make it easier for you to see, what kind of man Nicolas Flamel is. This is after all what a short while ago you wanted to know from this worthless creature.' Dee sent a disdainful glare at the werewolf on the floor, who was gasping in pain. 'For he is indeed, who he claims to be, even though I share your disappointment over his alchemical skills, he was always more of a scribe and philosopher, than a true scientist, like you and me.' Arthur Dee was smiling a crooked smile that was probably meant to be agreeable. _Don't even try it! I have seen far too much between heaven and earth to fall for such blunt attempts of flattery._

'Flamel has put much effort into translating texts, eager to draw out spells that had not been used in this world for centuries. More and more he became obsessed with these spells, as well as the languages and cultures that were closely connected to what he found in the book. He did not hesitate to try out spells the effects of which he did not know in the least. I am sure a man of your education knows of the Great Fire of London, no one knows however that it was hallowed Nicolas Flamel, who had caused it, while experimenting with a newfound spell in his London flat.' The mentioning of messing around with unknown spells brought up unwanted memories that Severus quickly quenched by concentrating on keeping his mind clear.

'And how would you have come by that little piece of information? Considering that you should have been dead by then for 15 years it is indeed an accomplishment.' Severus interjected silkily. Arthur Dee smiled smugly, before he answered.

'I would have thought that it was obvious that I have come up with a method to avoid death and the struggle of old age in a way similar to Flamel's. I'll come back to my relation to him soon. First know that he has always engaged in the let's say more doubtful magical disciplines, like necromancy, summoning all kinds of magical creatures or scrying just to list a few, even though he does not mention that frequently it, as it would not fit the image of the noble fender for the greater good.' – Severus breath caught in his throat for a moment at these words and inwardly he shuddered at the word. But either Dee had not noticed or not brought up these words purposefully to draw him out, as he continued unperturbed. – 'Flamel has meddled in all these disciplines and more than once blamed his own failures on the so-called demons that he claims to fight. When he learned his own limitations in some of the fields, he wanted to selectively hire talented wizards and sometimes witches, but the latter were usually far too deeply bonded with their families to commit themselves to Flamel's rigid decree of secrecy, which mainly serves his purpose to have will-less slaves at his disposal.

At first he aimed for the best of the best, he even approached my father and me, when he learned that we possessed a formula for an anti aging potion, different from his own, but when he realised that people that he did not have leverage over were less than perfects puppets in his game, he soon turned to picking out the outcasts with nothing left to lose such as this.' Even though Dee pointed at the werewolf, Severus heard the unspoken implication and seethed with anger, though he was not sure whether to direct it more towards Flamel or Arthur Dee.

Looking at the werewolf he realised that Faolan had become quite pale by now; even though the wound did not bleed much Severus knew that the silver had the effect of scorching the wound on the outside, while the poison got into his bloodstream slowly. If the dagger was not pulled out soon, Faolan would die. Rationally considered that thought should not affect him as much as it did, after all he had seen so many people be tortured and killed in front of him that he had not cared to keep count of them and almost always had avoided to show even the slightest emotion.

What truly disturbed Severus was the fact that no one came to check on them, there was after all an unwanted intruder in what was most likely Flamel's headquarter; _did the man's incompetence know no bounds?__Or do these presumptuous fools feel so secure that they think they do not even require wards?_ Maybe Dee had created such an effective distraction that no one had the chance to come here and check on them, given his reputation told by Slytherin house chronicles that possibility was not completely unlikely.

Quickly considering his options it became clear to him that he was almost out of them, the main problem being that he had no wand and none was nearby. Even though he could manage some wandless incantations, he had just one chance to catch Dee by surprise and take him out, before the other could retaliate and then had the clear advantage of fighting against an unarmed man. _No, after all I'm not a bloody Gryffindor to risk my neck so recklessly, when all odds are against me._ So the only option left was talking his way out of it and waiting for the other to make a mistake or help to arrive.

'I can't believe you're here out of pure goodness of heart to prevent a fellow Slytherin to fall into the clutches of Flamel; that would be far too selfless for someone as cunning as you are. What is it you want from me?'

'We want you to join the right side in this struggle.' – _this sounded far too familiar, just why was it always him who was stuck between the fronts?_

'So, you want me to join a hoard of mythological monsters, who have been terrorising people for ages in order to get what exactly in return?', he growled at the other rather unpleasantly.

'Now, now that's just Flamel's superstition and lack of knowledge. These are life forms that have been formerly worshipped as gods, they are powerful, but civilised and they have style, certainly more than this gang of rundown halfwits. Do you know what it is like to sit down with the Egyptian goddess Isis for a cup of tea?'

'I do not _know_, but I'm sure it is an unparalleled delight.' Snape's sarcasm dampened Dee's enthusiasm not in the least.

'Do not joke at such matters,' he reprimanded. 'They can give you power, knowledge or whatever you strive for, as they have for ages. Once they have taken over and humankind is reigned as it should be by respect for nature and magic that muggles have lost so long ago, in other words by wizards with the sense of responsibility and strictness required for such a deed, the followers of now will be the governors of the future, while their enemies will be crushed by the gods' proverbial wrath.'

Severus arched an eyebrow and replied sardonically: 'And what would you or your otherworldly masters wish in return for such a gracious gift, nothing short of my unwavering loyalty and undying servitude I suppose. With or without a death sentence looming over my head from requiring aforementioned elixir?' _Not to mention that I could not imagine the Slytherin-run company Dee & Son to share any bit of power, if they can help it. _

Just as Dee drew breath to give a lengthy reply, the werewolf, who was still struggling on the floor, made a soft whimper of pain. This seemed to bring Dee back to reality and apparently he considered that his time was running out now, as he withdrew a small phial from his robes and stepped closer to Severus extending it.

'This is a sample from our 'Immortality Elixir', it's also a portkey that will take you to our headquarters; all you have to do is touch it.' The time to act was now or never. With a quick wave of his left hand, Severus sent the bedside table skidding into Dee, who stumbled backwards with a grunt of pain. Voices could now be heard in the corridor and Dee was looking frantically at the door before turning his dark look back on Snape. Unperturbed by the accusing look Severus snarled at him unpleasantly: 'When you came here to hire me for whatever cause, you forgot one very important thing: I do not sell myself out so easily; especially not to power-hungry Slytherins, who have sold out their souls centuries ago. I should congratulate you though; you have convinced me that yours is not only the side not to join, but also worth fighting against,' he growled in a fierce voice that made the man on the floor flinch. Changing to a silkier and more sarcastic tone he added: 'Send my kindest regards to your masters, will you. You should never fall from the grace of the gods_completely_ after all.'

Arthur Dee looked like he was about to commit a murder here and now, but thought better of it. 'So you have made your choice. I warn you, who is not with us, is against us. You _will_ regret this, Severus Snape,' he spat before activating the portkey and disappearing. _To set up wards against portkeys would apparently be far too much to expect from Flamel & Co., not that this should be surprising, as they could not even keep people that were far from welcome from strutting into their headquarters on foot._

Immediately Severus sat up, knowing that the injured werewolf on the floor was running out of time, every second could now make the difference between his life and death. Though he was neither the empathic kind of man, leaving someone to die, when he knew he had a chance to make a difference would just weigh too heavy on his conscience, even though it meant saving a werewolf he barely even knew.

But Snape had not been on his feet, since he had been injured and his circulation reminded him of that fact instantly. Dizzy and swaying on his legs like a drunk he dragged himself towards Faolan using the bedpost as support. When he fell to his knees beside the man, Severus' eyes automatically took in the other's condition, while his mind already started planning his course of action. The wolf's hands were swollen and red from his futile attempt to pull out the dagger and his chest looked even worse as it was not only red, but also showed dark lines under his skin, where arteries lay that were transporting the poisoned blood into every last part of his body. With one swift movement Severus pulled out the dagger and immediately the wound started bleeding. _The more it bleeds, the better_; blood can be replenished easily with the aid of potions, but the poison had to get out of the body. _Just where is a bloody wand, when you need one!_

With a loud crash 2 men burst through the door, both wearing equally fierce expressions of warriors expecting a harsh fight. As soon as they saw the dark haired wizard kneeling besides their injured companion with a blooded dagger in his hand, not jumping to rash conclusions was out of question. The taller of the two threw himself at Severus with a roar of hatred and practically hauled him to his feet, but did not stop until he had Snape pinned against the wall with a wand tip pressed against his neck. Blue eyes were gazing at him with loathing, as the brute shouted: 'I knew it. Once a murderer, always a murderer! What was Nicolas thinking, leaving Faolan with a bloodthirsty werewolf hater in a room?'

Now equally infuriated at not only being falsely accused of, but also at the sheer ignorance to rather conduct revenge than save someone's life – _that must be a streak common to all self announced paladins_ – Severus growled back: '_I was_ trying to help him; unlike you, who'd rather let him die and take revenge for that death than bend a finger in his aid.'

He could actually hear his shoulder joint snap, as the brute shoved him against the wall violently. _So much for the gratitude of your newly chosen allies, but I should not be that surprised after the complete lack of it from all my past companions in arms_.

The other man, a short, tanned and slender figure, now knelt down beside the groaning werewolf, but Severus could tell from the look on his face that he was completely at a loss, when it came to healing tasks. 'You have to give him an infusion of Sodium chloride!' When he saw the other's confused expression, he added: 'Just dissolve ordinary table salt in water!'

'How do we know that won't kill him, Poison master?' the brute growled.

'Oh, there is absolutely no need for you to believe me. Just lean back and watch as the silver that's already in his blood kills him in front of your eyes. That will surely be a balm for your conscience,' Snape sneered back.

To the other, who was mixing the salt in water, he advised: 'If you give him that, you have to speak the correct spell to remove the salts that coagulate from his veins, or he'll die of a heart attack.'

The annoyed man snapped at him: 'You do it, if you're so clever.'_Now or never._

Using his sweetest tone of voice, while making every single word drip with poison, he answered: 'I'd love nothing more than to do this rather sooner than later, as soon as you give me a wand, so that I can perform the incantation.'

As the one restraining him wanted to protest, the shorter one quickly interjected: 'Release him. Nicolas is sure, he is on our side.' Only now did Severus realise how much the other's grip had actually supported him, as his knees began to buckle and he almost collapsed, being caught by the same brute's grip on his arm. Both stepped towards the werewolf and his helper, who now held out his wand with its handle pointed towards Severus. 'You may use my wand.'

The incantation was quickly performed and fairly easy to manage for someone, who knew the desired effect as well as a potion master. To pacify the still frowning leagues' men, he gave them a short explanation of the process: 'The chloride binds to the silver in the bloodstream and thus inactivates it and keeps it from poisoning him. That's rather basic knowledge in my field of study. The coagulated silver chloride has then to be removed from his body, before any arteries are clogged.'

Quickly the deathly greyish colour of the werewolf's skin turned into the usual pallor of a person that had lost as much blood as he had. Despite the relief he felt at the recovery of his patient he just could not help but sneer at the two men unpleasantly: 'Now, gentlemen. As we have seen how far-reaching the foundation of trust within your league is, you'd better feed him the required blood replenishing potion yourselves, lest I poison him with one of the dark substances I have up the sleeve of my hospital gown.'

The shorter one immediately hurried to the shelf containing all kinds of flasks and phials, likely containing the standard healing potions required in the infirmary, and after scanning the labels for a while came back with a phial in his hand. Even though the label was correct, Snape checked the potion by smelling at it, before pouring it down the werewolf's throat. The change was even more obvious this time, Faolan looked almost healthy as the brute levitated him back onto his bed.

With his hand visibly shaking from the adrenaline overflow in his system paired with pure exhaustion Severus gave back the borrowed wand, reluctantly however, as he was fully aware that he just handed over his only weapon. If the brute decided to return to his previous point of the argument that had only been postponed, but not settled, he was completely defenceless, a state he utterly loathed. Although he was aware that in his current state he would not stand much of a chance against the man anyway, even less the two of them together, it would be better than surrendering to Flamel without any sort of resistance or leverage.

Thinking it over, he realised that he had more chance to put pressure on Flamel than ever before, since he had been provided with the biased, but nonetheless interesting information by his newly chosen enemy Arthur Dee himself. Smirking a bit more contently than before Severus settled down on his own bed again, to which the smaller wizard had supported him. _Come to help him indeed Dee had, even though in a different way than intended; if he did not use that opportunity, Salazar himself would start rotating in the grave. Plotting and scheming was after all a game that became the more interesting the more people participated._

* * *


End file.
